Nightmare Gallery: A Treasury of Twisted Terror Tales

The Last Broadcast

The radio crackled to life in the dimly lit living room of Carla's small apartment. It had been years since she had used it, tucked away in a corner collecting dust, but tonight, something had drawn her to it. Maybe it was the restless feeling in her chest, the unease that seemed to seep into her bones. Or perhaps it was the power outage that had plunged the building into darkness, forcing her to find solace in an object from a simpler time. Regardless of why, it was there, waiting to tell her a story.

Carla was sitting on the couch, a blanket pulled tightly around her, her eyes flicking to the broken window. The wind outside howled like a ghost, rattling the glass. She reached for the old radio, its brass knobs cold under her fingertips. As she twisted the dial, searching for anything familiar, the static became more intense. A deep, groaning hum filled the room, and for a moment, she thought the radio was broken.

Then, a voice emerged from the chaos, its timbre smooth, almost too smooth.

"Good evening, listeners," the voice said, the words almost too perfect, too crisp. "This is WVRX, and tonight, we bring you a story of great importance. A story that must be heard. The final broadcast."

Carla's breath hitched. There was something unsettling about the voice, but it was too late to turn it off. She felt a strange compulsion to keep listening, even as her heart pounded in her chest.

The voice continued.

"This is the last transmission from WVRX, and we have no idea how long the signal will last. Our equipment has been compromised. Something is coming. Something you cannot ignore."

Carla leaned in, her ears straining to hear, her pulse racing. The wind outside howled louder, as if trying to drown out the voice. She glanced at the window again, wondering if she was just imagining things.

"I've been receiving strange reports all week," the voice went on, "strange messages, calls, and visions. The air has been thick with something we can't explain. And tonight, it all comes to a head. If you're listening, wherever you are, I urge you to turn off your lights. Lock your doors. Do not open your windows. And for God's sake, don't go outside."

Carla's hand hovered over the radio, but she couldn't turn it off. Her mind was racing, trying to make sense of what was happening. Was this some kind of joke? Some elaborate prank? But the voice—there was a weight to it, a sincerity that made her question everything.

"Do not trust what you see," the voice warned, its tone dropping to a whisper. "It is not real. It is not meant for you."

The radio hissed again, and for a moment, Carla thought it had cut out. But then, just as quickly, the voice returned, sharper and more urgent.

"They are here. And they're coming for you, Carla."

Carla froze. The mention of her name sent a jolt of fear through her. Her hands began to tremble, the blanket slipping from her shoulders. She stared at the radio, her mind struggling to comprehend what she was hearing.

"Do not look at them," the voice continued, barely a whisper now. "Whatever you do, do not look at them. If you do, they will see you. And it will be the last thing you ever do."

The radio crackled violently, sending a shock of static through the room. Then, just as abruptly as it had started, the transmission stopped. The silence that followed was deafening. Carla sat there, her heart racing, the room unnervingly still.

For a long moment, nothing happened. She glanced around, her senses heightened, every creak of the floorboards, every gust of wind, sending her pulse into overdrive. She was alone. Wasn't she?

Her eyes wandered back to the window. The wind had stopped, and the night was eerily quiet. She strained her ears, listening for anything out of the ordinary. The air outside had changed—heavy, thick, and suffocating, as though the very atmosphere had turned to lead.

A flicker of movement outside caught her eye.

She squinted, heart pounding as she moved closer to the window. At first, she thought it was a shadow, but then she saw it again—slow, deliberate. A figure, standing just beyond the edge of her apartment building, in the alleyway that ran along the side.

She couldn't make out the details, but it was tall, unnaturally tall, with long, spindly limbs that twisted in odd angles. The figure didn't move like a human. It was too smooth, too fluid, as though it didn't belong to the world she knew.

Carla's breath caught in her throat. She wanted to look away, to shut the blinds and lock the door. But she couldn't move. Her eyes were glued to the figure, a strange compulsion forcing her to watch, even as her mind screamed at her to turn away.

The figure moved closer, its form becoming clearer with each passing second. It had no face—no features to speak of, just an empty space where its head should have been. Yet Carla felt it. It was staring at her. Watching her.

The voice returned suddenly, crackling through the static, as though it had never left. "I told you not to look."

Carla's breath hitched, her legs frozen in place. The figure was right there, at the base of her building, now looking directly at her window. She felt its gaze, even though there was no face, no eyes to meet her own. It was like something beyond the limits of her understanding was staring at her soul.

"Turn off the lights," the voice commanded urgently. "Now."

Carla's hand shot out toward the lamp beside the window, but as her fingers brushed the switch, the lights flickered once—then went out completely.

For a moment, everything was pitch black. She could hear her own shallow breathing, the beating of her heart in her ears. Then, a faint glow began to fill the room. It was coming from the window. A pale, unnatural light that seemed to pulse in time with her heartbeat.

The figure was closer now, far too close.

She heard a scratching noise behind her, and she spun around, expecting the worst. But nothing was there. No sound. No movement.

When she looked back at the window, the figure was gone. The light was gone. The alleyway was empty, just as it had been before.

The radio crackled back to life, its voice strained and distorted. "You're safe—for now," it said, its tone hollow. "But the signal is fading. I hope you understand. You can't outrun them."

The broadcast cut off, leaving only the static to fill the empty silence.

Carla stood frozen in the center of the room, the darkness swallowing her whole. It wasn't just the lights that were out now; the world felt like it had gone quiet, too quiet. The weight of the night pressed against her chest, and a chill crawled up her spine.

And then she realized.

The voice was gone. But the figure—the thing that had no face—was still out there. Still watching. And maybe, just maybe, it was waiting for her to make the next move.